


Ad-Libbed

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Behind the Scenes, M/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Misha? Misha ad-libs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ad-Libbed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://earth-heart.livejournal.com/profile)[**earth_heart**](http://earth-heart.livejournal.com/) for [](http://ficexchange-mix.livejournal.com/profile)[**ficexchange_mix**](http://ficexchange-mix.livejournal.com/). Mad props to my beta team, [](http://kirihana527.livejournal.com/profile)[**kirihana527**](http://kirihana527.livejournal.com/), [](http://stellamaris99.livejournal.com/profile)[**stellamaris99**](http://stellamaris99.livejournal.com/), and [](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/profile)[**cassiopeia7**](http://cassiopeia7.livejournal.com/). You guys are the best.

**6x01: Exile on Main Street**  


* * *

Jensen would never, ever say it out loud, but he is not looking forward to Season Six.

He liked the way Season Five ended. He liked the idea that after it all, Dean Winchester walked away and had a life. He knew it wasn’t the life his character really desired, but it was one he could live with, and in Jensen’s mind, Dean had been struggling since the very first episode to find a way to live without his brother. The whole series had, to some extent, been about Dean learning to let Sam go.

So to start again, and to start by upsetting that balance, does not make Jensen a happy actor. But just like a model who doesn’t have to like the clothes he’s wearing (and Jensen’s done that, too), he’s gotta sell the script he’s given. And he’ll sell this. He’ll find some way to reconcile the stability that Dean gained with what he’s lost. Life takes its most unexpected turns when you think it’s settled down. That’s what Dean needs to deal with, and that’s what Jensen needs to learn.

Sometimes just when you've found normality, truth comes along and washes it away again.

* * *

  


## Ad Libbed

  
 _“Dean and I do have a more profound bond.”_ -Castiel  


* * *

 **6x03 - The Third Man**  


* * *

  
Here’s the thing about Misha. Misha ad-libs.

He ad-libs so well half the time the directors keep the line in. How else would Castiel say something like “You should have seen Luke”? Or “on a bender.” Even “He’s not on any flatbread.” This is all Misha. And the directors love it. Well, hell, everyone loves it. Misha’s just the right kind of weird to fit in on the Supernatural set. He’s a fun guy.

What’s interesting, though, is he always seems to throw things in that make Jensen have to adjust his reactions. It’s like Misha loves knocking Jensen out of character, making him gape and breaking the focus that Jared has been trying for five years to break with only limited success. There’s something about Misha that gets it done every damn time.

That’s what happens here. The script had nothing to say about a profound bond. Misha tosses it into the scene, easily, during a rehearsal, and Jensen completely breaks character. His jaw drops and his eyes bug out and Bob, who’s directing, bursts into laughter and has to start the scene all over again. This time Misha plays the scene straight and Bob frowns. “There’s something missing,” he says. “You know what? Misha, say that again. That line about the profound bond. I liked that.”

Jensen glares at him. It’s bad enough, this whole adversarial tone they’re taking with Castiel’s return, with him being so snippy toward Sam and Dean. Now they’re going to throw in a line about how damn close Cas and Dean are, and then go right back to bitching at each other? Complete with Cas telling Dean he didn't come because Dean called him? It's incongruous, sloppy.

Doesn’t bother Misha, though. And it’s Jared’s job right now not to care about anything. So that leaves Jensen alone, and frustrated and confused as to exactly what the hell their dynamic is supposed to be this season. It’s a good thing Dean’s so damn confused himself, because if he were totally settled with all this crap, it’d be impossible for Jensen to play.

Still, the rehearsal leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He heads back to his trailer kind of fuming, not much looking forward to getting the call that makeup is ready for him, because he doesn’t want to shoot that scene. It makes him antsy. There’s something off about the whole damn thing.

And then Misha’s peeking into his trailer.

Jensen stares at him, frowning, for a long minute. Misha’s doing that cocky thing where he’s grinning and sort of half-scowling with this patented concern that is so full of shit that Jensen can smell it a block away. Like he’s just waiting for Jensen to react.

Jensen reacts. “What?”

“You look not-happy.”

“You’re brilliant.” Jensen openly scowls at him.

“Was it something I said?” Misha steps into the room like it’s his; Jensen can’t help but watch as he bends his head to enter. There’s something almost spiderlike about the way he moves, all bendy arms and legs and neck. It’s a bit rhythmic, a bit hypnotizing. His hand unfolds, also like a spider’s legs, and Jensen stares at the motion of his fingers. Effortless and powerful.

He tears his eyes away. “What was that about?” he asks. “That whole profound bond crap.”

“I don’t know." Misha shrugs. Jensen's not facing him, but he can hear Misha poking about in his trailer, picking up photos and items of bric-a-brac on the shelves, then putting them down. Getting his fingerprints onto everything Jensen owns. It's invasive and annoying. "I figured it was the usual."

"There's a usual?"

"Well, sure. You know. He brought Dean out of hell, that kind of thing. The whole thing they've been through together."

Jensen relaxes a bit. Maybe he's overthinking this whole thing. Misha's right, of course, about their characters being close. That's been well established. Maybe Jensen needs to learn not to ascribe ulterior motives to everything. He turns.

Misha's right there, grinning into his face. "And of course the fact that Castiel's madly in love with him."

Jensen rockets backward to the opposite wall. "Misha!"

Tilt of the head, saccharine smile. "Yes? What'd I say?"

"You're _fucking_ with me!"

Misha picks up a book from Jensen's desk. "Am I, now?"

"You know you are." Jensen reaches over and snatches the book away. Misha looks at his empty hands, his eyes and lips round. "Get the hell out of here. I need a nap."

Misha's face falls. "Sorry, Jensen, I didn't mean--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Jensen pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm giving myself a headache. Look, I'm just going to rest."

"You do that." It doesn't even sound like the same person. Misha bows out of the trailer, leaving Jensen to stew in his own juices until it's time to shoot.

* * *

They're at the foot of a winding staircase. Fake blood is running from Misha's lips. Sebastian stands at his mark, a dull black circle etched in the floor denoting the circle of flames that Effects will CGI in. They're doing the whole scene in one take. Everybody's on their A game. It's a great feeling.

Dean and Balthazar are exchanging harsh words. Balthazar's disdain for humans is on full display. He calls Dean a mud monkey. And then Castiel shuts him up by declaring, "The mud monkey has the floor."

Jensen looks over when Misha says it, and promptly forgets his line.

There's fire in Misha's eyes. There's rage and there's protectiveness, and Jensen could swear there's something beyond that. It seems to him to be much more than a joke right now, what Misha said in his trailer. Maybe Misha actually made that acting choice. It's definitely not out of the realm of possibility.

Misha's eyes dart over to meet his. A shot of bright bitter lightning plummets down through Jensen's spine to his toes.

"Cut!"

Bob is frowning in his chair. "Jensen, you're supposed to be looking at Sebastian. Still with us?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry." Damn it. Misha's gone and made him break character again. It'd be humiliating if it weren't unsettling in a much deeper manner than that. Why does Misha shake him so? Even after two years of working with the guy. Jensen should be used to it by now. But Misha's done this to him since the beginning, and it seems to have hit a whole new layer of discomfort. Jensen wants to recede like a turtle and hide his head.

"You all right?" Misha is peering at him, the mask of Castiel dropped, just wide blue eyes and friendly concern.

Jensen nods. He isn't.

* * *

  
 **6x06 - You Can't Handle the Truth**  


* * *

They have a two-week break in filming after that, and then return to shoot the fifth episode of the season. Misha's not in that one, and in the following episode, he's only in one scene.

But what a scene.

The script says that Castiel picks up the bottle and helps himself to a glass. The shot glass is actually sitting there on the counter in the background. The blocking is choreographed such that Castiel crosses the room with the bottle and picks up the glass. That's what happens during the rehearsal.

But when they go to shoot, Misha starts across the room and looks Jensen in the eye, and he tilts the bottle forward. Jensen reaches out the cup on instinct, to avoid a spill of fake alcohol on the floor of the set, and all of a sudden their eyes are locked and Misha's refilling his glass. No, Castiel's refilling Dean's glass, and it's stunningly natural and in-character. In fact, Jensen's almost positive nobody in the room breathes.

The director whispers "Print" at the end of the scene. It's done in a single take.

Jensen retreats from set in a daze. He's the king of the unusual scene choices. He remembers kissing Alona's forehead before their scripted kiss during her death scene, remembers the electric moment when he went for it and the buzz on the set disappeared to an awed hush. He lives for moments like that. How can he fault Misha for having a similar moment of glory? Why does it shake him so badly?

He thinks it has to do with this weirdly distant season, where Dean's not close to anyone. Not Sam, not Lisa, and sure as hell not Cas. It's been tough to play -- without those anchors, Jensen's having trouble making the connections he needs to act it effectively. And yet Misha changed the dynamic with that single throwaway line about a profound bond. And now he's reinforcing it, and it frustrates Jensen how effortless it is. When here Jensen is working his ass off and --

"Think a little harder, Jensen."

Misha's leaning over his shoulder.

Jensen jumps. "Jesus, you're turning into your character."

"That's just my ninja training coming through again," Misha says lightly. He walks around to face Jensen, waves his hand at him. "You're doing this shell-shocked thing lately."

"Yeah?" Jensen rubs his eyes.

"Yeah." Misha sits down on the table just opposite him. Props and tools rattle. "You sure you're OK?"

He doesn't need this. Not this mild-mannered, bland expression of concern from the guy who's causing it to begin with. He rubs his forehead. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Sure. Of course." Misha's frowning at him, lines creasing his forehead. It's one of those times when Misha looks like a real person, not a movie star, and he's acting like a real person, too, instead of a gigantic ball of snark and energy. Jensen likes those times. It's just that right now he can't deal with Misha coming any closer than arm's length.

Jensen waves vaguely back at the set. "Some of the ad-libs you've been doing... " he heaves a sigh. It sucks to talk about this. So much of their time onscreen is natural, almost instinctual. It's rare when there's an abrasive edge that needs to be tamped down behind the scenes, and Jensen's not much used to having to deal with it. "They're not... they don't sit well with me."

"Really?" Misha's eyes widen to the point that Jensen thinks they might pop out entirely, and rattle on the floor like giant blue plates.

"You seem really surprised."

"Well, I am. I mean, it's not like I haven't done this before."

"No, I know." Jensen searches for words. "I don't mean you shouldn't ad-lib, it's just... this is such a weird dynamic they've got going this season, with everyone being so distant and Dean being, I don't know, all alone in the middle of all these things that are happening."

"I got the feeling you didn't love that," Misha says.

"You're right, I don't. But--"

"It's cool," Misha says, but there's disappointment in the twitch of his lips, in the way the corners of his mouth turn down almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry, man, I'll -- I'll try to play it a little bit more by the book."

"Don't-- don't stop being you," Jensen hastens to assure him. "I just wonder if Cas would be this... this giving right now."

Misha chuckles. "You want to know something funny?" he says. "I was doing a lot of that _because_ of how uncomfortable you looked. I didn't like to see you like that. I figure Castiel doesn't like to see Dean that way, either."

Jensen takes in a breath. He didn't see that one coming. "Seriously?"

"Guess it backfired," Misha says.

Jensen wants to say "Guess so," but the words dry in his throat. Around them, the pace on set is starting to pick up again, with costumers trucking through racks of clothes and makeup artists starting to work on the day players. Jared's on the far edge of the set, and he gives a friendly wave to the two of them as he continues to take blocking direction from stagehands. Jensen gives him a tight smile back.

"Can I ask you something?" Misha says, almost shyly.

"Of-- of course."

"You're upset with the way _Castiel's_ acting, right?" His lips pause in a pucker. "Not _me_? I haven't done anything to you?"

Jensen pauses. "What?"

Misha draws a breath. "That is... am I making you uncomfortable, somehow?"

Jensen's "No" is immediate, but it's also reflexive, and he isn't sure he means it. The question stays with him for the rest of the day. And by the end of the day it's morphed from _Is Misha doing anything?_ to _What the hell is he doing to me?_

* * *

  
 **6x07 - Family Matters**  


* * *

Misha keeps his word. The next episode, he plays it close to the vest, following the script to the letter, and it goes all right. They start shooting with the location shoots and then return to the studio for the later days of filming, which essentially means they're shooting the episode in reverse. Dean and Sam discover Grandpa Samuel's little prison complex, they question the alpha vampire, and they shoot the one scene with Mark Sheppard before he flies off to do something else bigger and brighter, to return the following week for an equally brief appearance in the next episode. So with the action and the fights and Corin Nemec dying all taken care of, they double back to the middle of the episode, shooting the scenes in the Campbell compound next.

Misha's in those scenes, and he's almost clinical in his approach. His words to Dean are clipped and insensitive, and Jensen finds himself harder and more demanding of Misha's character in their scenes for the lack of that extra warmth that Misha usually throws into their scenes together. When Castiel turns and says bitterly to Dean that "your problems always come first," Jensen feels it like a slap in the face.

What is he getting all worked up for? The vibe on this set is so good and always has been. Misha hasn't done anything. Jensen's creating an illusion in his head, letting his imagination turn isolated incidents into a narrative he doesn't need to follow if he doesn't want to. He rejects it. This episode is called Family Matters, and that's a good reminder. Misha's family. Everyone's family on this set. Always have been. So it's a rough patch. They still have a job to do and they still care about each other.

They save the first scene of the episode to be the last one filmed, because it's expensive for makeup to cover Jared with blood and then hose him down. This episode has been all about Dean and Sam's relationship - how it's scarred, how they have to struggle to remake it. Jensen isn't expecting to have any "moments" with Misha in this scene. Sure, Dean and Castiel talk when they discover the ugly truth about Sam's soul, but it's only for a minute, and Jared's still in the scene, if not the shot. So it should be easy.

 _Should._

All at once they're shooting, and Jensen's right up in Misha's face, and he's looking at that face and seeing something that doesn't feel like family anymore, that feels like something new and dangerous and fascinating. He's losing his grip, he's losing his character, and Misha hasn't done anything at all. He's just... been Misha.

That's the scary bit. It's not the ad-libs. It's not the direction of the season. It's Misha, himself, that's getting to Jensen.

"Cut."

Bob's voice. He's directing this episode, too. Jensen looks up and says, "Sorry, Bob, I was--"

"Don't say sorry." Bob's eyes are glowing. "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

"What am I doing?" Jensen turns, looks at a bloodied-up Jared in the chair, flexing his arms and hands while he doesn't have to pretend they're tied behind his back. "What am I doing?" he asks again.

"I don't know." Jared shrugs. "It kinda looks like you're scared. Which is an awesome choice. I didn't think you were going to play it that way."

"I look scared?"

A glance at Misha gets a confirming nod. Jensen frowns hard. "I look scared."

Well, he is. He is scared. But right now he's scared because Misha's still standing right next to him and Jensen wants to pull him closer and tip his head back and--

Yeah. He's scared to _death._

* * *

  
 **6x10 - Caged Heat**  


* * *

He stays scared through two weeks of Misha-less production. He's more on guard now than he ever was before, even though Misha's nowhere around -- just because he _will_ come back, and when he does Jensen would have to put his guard back up again. And his system wouldn't be able to take the shock.

He doesn't tell anyone what's wrong. Most people on set pretty much pick up on it, but it's not like Jensen's never had creative differences with the show before. It always gets resolved, and Jensen always gets the job done, so people forgive him a few moments of brooding artist-ness. He figures after six years (and over twenty in the business), he's kind of earned it.

Jared asks, because Jared's just that kind of guy, and he's smart as a whip and picks up on stuff immediately. Jared's also his best friend, and Jensen feels kind of awful not telling him what's on his mind, because this is the sort of thing you tell best friends first. But not this time, not Jared, not this secret. Because Jared and Misha are close. Too close. Close enough that Jensen worries. About secrets getting slipped. About...

About other things he doesn't want to mention. About the warmth when they're together. About the way they gang up on him on set and at cons. About. Shit. About Jared and Misha. He's imagining it, because if there were something, they'd tell him, and they're not the kind of guys who hide, but still.

It makes Jensen mad to even think about.

It doesn't help that through the two episodes they're filming, Jared is basically playing the world's biggest asshole, and it's Jensen's job to be pissed off at him. Either life is imitating art, or art is fucking with life, and he doesn't want to ponder which.

And then he gets the script for 6x10, and he nearly chokes on his pizza.

What the fuck? What the fuck is this? They have to do _what?_

He's going to have to talk to Misha about this, because there's no way he can go onto that set and watch this stuff and be half-afraid that Misha's going to do some crazy shit again. Especially during that kiss. Or in that scene when Castiel is supposed to be watching porn. That whole thing is too rife with opportunities for Misha to pull something.

Jensen thinks about his next move very carefully. Very, very carefully.

They're doing a night shoot. Jared and Misha wrapped up an outdoor scene a while ago. It's too freaking late for words. Catering's brought by a pizza, and Jensen's sitting there staring at the unopened box, breathing in the scent of garlic and trying to get up the courage to leave his trailer and trek across set to have the conversation he needs to have.

He figures food is a good way to break the ice. So he hoists the sweating box up on one hand like a waiter and totes it out the door and across the set. Why the hell Misha's trailer has to be on the other end of the lot, Jensen's got no idea. It's just his way of being ornery. Making Jensen sweat in every possible way. He's stewing as he walks, lost in his own world of grumbles. That's probably why he doesn't hear the laughter arising from the trailer as he mounts the steps and knocks on the door.

"C'mon in!" Misha's voice is jubilant. Jensen swings open the door.

Jared's sprawled out on the floor of the trailer, wearing one of his favorite comfortable sweaters, and there are Scrabble tiles everywhere. In his lap, stuck to his jeans, on the board, and weirdly enough on Misha's _face_ , and Jensen's not entirely sure how it got there or how come it's not falling off. Jared's eyes light up. "Pizza!"

"Show a guy you're happy to see him," Misha says snidely.

"But he brought pizza!"

Why is Jensen pissed? He doesn't know, but he's pissed. Something about Misha and Jared, curled up on the floor playing Scrabble (Jensen _knows_ they play scrabble, Misha complains about it all the time) is making him feel like crap. He thinks it's the comfort in the scene, the feeling that this is Jared's _usual_ perch, that he belongs on the floor among a scattering of tiles. In the face of that kind of comfort and familiarity, what is Jensen's place? Who is he in relation to this? Nothing but the pizza man.

Jared's on his feet, taking the box out of Jensen's hands. "Allow me."

 _It's not for you,_ Jensen says in his mind. _I need to talk to Misha. Give us a minute, for fuck's sake._

"Thanks," he says out loud. "Enjoy."

Somehow the time passes, the pizza's eaten, and Jensen ends up dealt into their Scrabble game. A few beers that Misha's got in his mini-fridge help lubricate the situation. And it's fun. It's always fun. These are his friends. Jensen smiles, he tries to play the word "ASHOLE" with one S, and he enjoys the taste of tingling beer and spicy tomato sauce on his tongue.

"Another beer?" Misha says, handing a frosty bottle over to him.

Jensen takes it. Their fingertips brush. Dots of color appear in Misha's cheeks. Jensen's voice catches around the "thanks." His heart breaks into a wild tap routine in his chest.

It doesn't help when Misha picks up his phone and tries to take a picture of the three of them. Their faces squeeze together and Jensen's cheek's flush against Misha's, and Misha's breathing almost on his mouth. Something low and deep, buried inside Jensen, is nearly to the breaking point. He turns away, blushing, with Misha's arm still wrapped around his shoulder.

Jared picks that point to jump to his feet. "Well, I gotta go," he declares, "early call tomorrow." He waves goodbye to the tangled pretzel of Misha and Jensen and heads for the door. "See you guys."

Misha sees Jared out, then fixes bright eyes on Jensen. "You know something," he says, "Jared was too tipsy to pay attention, but I wasn't. You had your serious face on all night."

Jensen wants to reply that he is a serious type, but the dreadful rush of blood to his cheeks seems to have swollen his tongue, too, and he can't say a word.

Misha leans against the back of the trailer door. He gives a short sigh. "You came over here for a reason," he says. "I'm all ears."

Jensen stares at him, hard. Enough that Misha himself starts to blush.

"God, Jensen," he says, finally, frustrated. "I know I've been pissing you off lately, but I honestly don't know how. Could you at least talk to me? Tell me what's going on?"

No. No, he can't. The frustration at not being able to even speak that much claws at Jensen's ribs. He finds his way to his feet. The whole trailer spins dangerously around him. An empty beer bottle connects with his toes and clatters to the floor, making a hollow sound as it rolls away.

"Jensen?" Misha's eyes grow wider and wider with each unsteady step Jensen takes toward him. "Hey--"

His voice chokes off as Jensen's hands come out, slamming flat palms against the trailer door on either side of Misha's head. It'd be threatening if he stayed that way, but Jensen keeps moving, eyes intent on Misha's face. That thing inside him is broken, and he's stopped thinking altogether. He's just swinging, like a rusty hinge, the keening in his brain loud and unbearable. _Enough. Enough._

Misha opens his mouth one more time to speak. "Is this about the profound bond thing agai---"

The final sound never makes it out. It's trapped under Jensen's lips, crumbled to dust there and drowned beneath the rush of wet warmth that is Misha kissing back, arching up from the door to press his body against Jensen's. A wave of heat soaks Jensen through, and he shudders, slides one of his hands up from its perch on the door and tangles it into the hairline at the nape of Misha's neck. Prickly black strands ruffle beneath his fingertips.

Misha's hands rise too, cup Jensen's face, and their kissing is suddenly an expert, intense thing, nibbles and licks sliding easily into the equation and making the desperation slide aside for the sake of perfect, deliberate little teases. Jensen doesn't know how many are his, how many are Misha's. He doesn't care; he doesn't know how. The only thing that his brain can do is process the tide of good feelings that keeps welling up, over and over again, inside him.

The expert swipe of Misha's tongue over the seam of his lips draws a groan from him. The sound echoes in his ears, spurring him on, and he opens his mouth, jaw dropping like a hinge, opening himself up totally to everything Misha wants, anything. And it turns out Misha wants a lot. His tongue slides boldly into Jensen's mouth, teasing out his own tongue, sliding against it in a possessive drag that pulls a wild moan from Jensen's throat.

The sound grounds him, and he pulls back. The kiss breaks with a loud smack. Jensen and Misha stare at each other, faces inches apart, both breathing raggedly.

The moment lingers, silent intensity. Misha's smile wobbles on his face. He's looking for words. Jensen doesn't want words, can't stand words right now. He crosses his hands over his waist, pulls up on his T-shirt and tosses it backward across the room. It lands on the pizza box. Misha follows its flight with his eyes, his cheeks pinking with amusement at where it lands. Then his eyes rest on Jensen's body again and any clever comment he was going to make dies in his throat.

He leans forward and kisses Jensen again, slow and gentle, and his hands slide up Jensen's sides and curl around his ribs. The heat between them is different now, more purposeful, and Jensen has the presence of mind for the first time to realize _yes, this, this is what was going on between us, this is what needed to happen._ He growls a bit, clamps his hands around Misha's waist and, fingers pulling on the hem of his shirt, begins to shuffle them backward along the floor toward the couch.

When their kisses break, they stare, and _God,_ Jensen could stare forever into those eyes, dark blue as the ocean, at once clear and opaque. He can see himself reflected in their surface, but what lies deeper he'll never understand. The couch comes up hard and sudden behind his calves, and his knees bend, toppling him back onto it. Misha doesn't follow him, just stares, possessed, lips swollen and brows knitted together. Jensen looks up, robbed of words and warmth, shirtless and begging.

Misha pulls off his own shirt and slides down, knees parting to straddle Jensen on the couch. The hard biting rub of their chests together lights Jensen like a match, and he pulls Misha's mouth down to his with hard clutching fingers on his arms.

"Jen--" Misha whispers into his mouth, and then there's a half-laugh. "Are you _shitting_ me?"

Jensen pulls back and rests his forehead on Misha's. In between labored gasps for breath, he manages to ask what the hell Misha's talking about. Unasked is why he's talking at all.

"It's just..." Misha kisses him slow and teasing, flickers of tongue at the corners of his lips, and then smiles. "The sexual tension between us... was _really_ sexual tension?"

Jensen just undoes his fly. Misha stops laughing.

There's frantic, awkward negotiating to get the hell out of their pants, with legs and fingers and denim looking for room that busy mouths and arching spines don't want to give. There's almost going to be a moment of uncomfortable nakedness, but the ball of tension that's spun out between them for weeks now won't let it take root. Then Misha reaches out and strokes Jensen's cock, one full, achingly good stretch and twist of limber fingers, and Jensen grabs his shoulders and yanks with all his might until Misha's laid out beneath him on the couch. Hovering above him, hand drawing slowly down his chest, Jensen has one more moment of hesitant disbelief.

"This is really happening," he murmurs, mostly to himself.

"Not if you keep talking about it," Misha says, and grabs his ass to pull him down.

They slide together, hands and cocks and thighs rubbing, seeking out each moment of sweet friction. Misha's hips jut up, seeking answering heat, and Jensen moves in small circles, his hand and Misha's in tandem steadying and teasing them both. He rounds his shoulders, presses his face to Misha's, kisses him in between small cries that come from his throat but sound nothing like him. They're quavering, they're soft. He's overwhelmed. He can't get enough of anything. Not Misha's eyes, not his wickedly soft lips, not the hard thrust of his body or the maddening stroke of his hands.

Misha's strangely quiet. His brow furrows and he looks like he's concentrating hard. Jensen looks down at him, slides his head into the gulf between neck and shoulder, and whispers, "Say something."

"Can't. Can't think."

Jensen laughs. "No ad-libs?"

"Jensen." Misha breathes hard into his ear. His hips and hand pump hard, and Jensen's body jerks and shudders. "Afraid of what I'd say." His voice drops to a place that's almost inaudible. "Don't want you to stop."

"Not stopping--" Jensen gasps, kisses his neck. "Oh God, not stopping."

He can see the light coming now. Burying his mouth in Misha's neck to stifle his cries, he lets it wash over him.

* * *

The next day they're filming the kiss. Sam and Dean watch in horrified shock as Castiel pins Meg to the wall, fists his hands in her hair, and kisses her passionately. When he breaks off, Rachel looks pretty damn shell shocked. "What was that?" she says.

"I learned that from the cable guy," is what Misha's supposed to say.

Instead, he says, "I learned that from the pizza man."

Jared looks at Jensen. Jensen gives his very best Dean shrug. He fights the beating of his heart all the way through the rest of the shoot.

* * *

Jensen is in a dreamlike haze for the rest of that week. Misha seems to be avoiding him, and Jensen's unsure whether or not he even wants to see him again.

They had _sex._ He had sex with a co-star. Really good, really hot, really needy sex.

Not the first time it's happened. But usually sex means they start dating, or that they've already decided it'll be nothing but the physical. This time, he has no idea what it means.

Damn it, Misha's done it _again._ Put him completely out of his depth and left him there to flounder. It's only his dedication to his job that's keeping Jensen from going into a full-scale funk. He doesn't know what he and Misha are. He doesn't know what he is right now.

He does know that he can't get Misha's taste, Misha's touch, out of his head. He knows that he wants it again. He just doesn't know how to get it. It's like being a shy high schooler all over again. Even with the flashbulbs popping away, he's still cowering inside. Afraid of what will happen if he makes the next move.

The phone rings on Thursday night. Jensen's studying the script for next week's episode, and he can tell already it's going to be challenging. It's a lot of emotion for Jensen to handle, and he's feeling so wobbly right now he doesn't know how it's going to shake out. He's reading the script, going through all the emotional cadences of putting on and taking off Death's ring, accepting his fallibility and his humanity, when the call comes. Half-distracted, he picks it up. "Hello?"

"Jensen."

Misha's voice, gentle and soft, makes Jensen's stomach clench. "Hey."

"Hey." A pause on the line. "Forgive me for, I don't know, sounding like an idiot here, but... I figure we should probably talk at some point."

"Um." Jensen struggles for words. "I guess. I don't... really know what to say. I mean, it happened."

"It did." There's something that sounds vaguely like a smile behind Misha's voice. "You know, I wasn't crushing on you or anything. I was pretty happy with what we were. It got away from me, that's all."

"What do you mean?" Jensen's hand is shaking too rapidly to hold the script. He drops it, curls his fingers into an empty fist.

Misha sighs on the other end of the line. "What I mean is, I just went with it. I don't want you to feel like anything has to change. If you want to pretend the whole thing never happened, I can respect that."

Jensen's frozen. He wasn't expecting this. He thought Misha would at least be telling him he wanted it, that he wants to do it more, or telling him it was a huge mistake and to forget about ever getting near him again. But Misha is once more doing the one thing Jensen doesn't expect.

His silence lasts long enough that Misha gives a soft cough and says, "All right." The line is dead before Jensen can say anything else.

* * *

Shooting "Caged Heat" has been a crap shoot. Most of the exterior shots are night shoots, and the great majority of the episode happens inside the creepy dungeon. It rains the first day they're going to do the daylight scene at the very end of the episode, so it's been put off and off again until Friday, when everything else has already been shot.

Jared's in makeup and the sun is coming up along the row of staid brick buildings where they're shooting. Jensen's squinting into the reflection of the sun on the bright windows of the Impala, feeling shaken, restless. He doesn't notice Misha coming up behind him until the reflection of his silhouette cuts into the ball of light.

He turns. "Morning."

"Hi," says Misha.

They wobble, like a pair of tethered balloons bobbing in the wind.

Jensen puts his hand over his face. "Jesus," he says, his voice muffled, "I don't know. I don't know if I can do it."

"Huh?" Misha's so damn calm. It's irritating.

"Don't 'huh' me." Jensen shouldn't be cracking this early, shouldn't be letting out the emotions he needs to hold in reserve for his work. But this is what Misha does to him. That much he's learned. "Playing like nothing happened. Pretending you and I..."

He pauses and looks around. The techies aren't on set yet. They're alone, save a few PAs running to and fro. Still, he lowers his voice.

"You get to me, Misha. You do nothing but get to me, and it's screwing up my whole life."

"That's why I said we could pretend--"

"But we can't. I can't, and you know it." Jensen turns, tries to look away, but he can't manage it. His eyes are drawn right back to Misha's perplexed squint. "Whenever you're around, whatever I meant to do goes right out the window and I end up completely off my game. So even if we tried, I couldn't-- I can't forget. And I sure as hell can't pretend."

Then, as usual, Misha does exactly what Jensen's not expecting. He grabs both Jensen's shoulders and frowns at him.

"Then I don't know what to do," he says. "I am trying to give you your life back. You keep telling me I'm messing you up, and so I'm trying to cut it out. But I don't know how. God, Jensen, you've got your life all scripted, all figured out. I'm not written in, I know that. I'm just trying to back off before I screw everything up all over again."

Jensen's mesmerized. There's pain in Misha's eyes, and Jensen is suddenly afraid it's has always been there, but he always looked away or kept himself from noticing, because it hurt too much to see.

"Wait," he says, shaking his head. "You said all that, you told me we could forget about it..."

"We can." Misha's eyes are wide, and his brows are drawn together, that way that pulls wrinkles out of his forehead, and Jensen feels a swell of affection. "I can do that for you, if that's what you need. But God, just for once, Jensen, I wish you'd throw that damn script away and just let whatever happens happen."

One hand slides up to Jensen's neck, and the contact is like the pierce of an arrow. Jensen winces. Misha goes on. "I'm trying so hard not to think about what you and I could be together. You fucked up my script too, you know? I didn't see this happening. But I'm willing to let it happen, see where it goes. Why aren't you?"

He lets go. Where the touch of his hand had pierced Jensen through, the lack of it turns him cold. Jensen's fingers go up to cover the spot as though it were gushing blood.

Misha was offering to pretend for Jensen's sake. Not because he wants to. Not because he doesn't care. Because he _does._

"You're right," Jensen says. "I'm not good at going off-script. Never have been."

He peers at Misha. "It's not who I am. If you think I can change, Mish, you're going to be disappointed." He cracks a smile. "I'm a crotchety old geezer--" Misha chuckles-- "and I'm set in my ways and when you fuck around with me, I get nervous. I'm scared I'm not going to be the person you want me to be."

He takes another look around. People are starting to file in. Nobody's paying them much attention, still, but they don't have the luxury of space that they had before. Jensen steps backward an inch. "My problem is this," he says. "I don't know if you want to be with me. Here, with the person I am. Because if you're hoping you can change me, I don't think--"

Misha takes a breath. He opens his mouth to speak.

Then the PA squawks to sudden life and they both jump. "Jensen, makeup," it declares in a tinny monotone, and all eyes on set go to him. Misha is frozen to the spot, his words stolen. Jensen steps backward a few more steps, then turns and goes.

* * *

It's a jumble, going through wardrobe and makeup and back to set. He doesn't remember much of it. He just knows that his heart has been hoisted high in the air and is dangling there, on the end of a line, waiting for an answer he isn't sure will ever come. He shoves it away, compartmentalizes it, and goes onto set in full Dean mode. Not that Castiel is much easier to deal with than Misha, but at least Castiel admits to there being a profound bond.

How funny that is, he thinks suddenly. He's come to accept that as the new truth of Dean and Castiel's relationship, even though he hated it when he first heard it. It's too bad he doesn't know if real life will work out so poetically.

As they emerge from the door to meet at the car, Castiel admits that the war in Heaven isn't going well. There's a beat, and Dean has a line, when all at once Misha fixes his gaze on Jensen and, once again, ad-libs.

"Most of the time," he says, "I'd rather be here."

Jensen's heart leaps. The sun reflecting off the glass seems twenty times more brilliant. _Really?_ he mouths.

Misha nods. There's emotion in his eyes that Jensen feels like he's never seen before.

"Cut! Jensen, you have a line."

They have to do the take again. Naturally, the director once again wants to leave in the ad-libbed line. "So wait for him to say that, and then you say your line," he says to Jensen. "That work for you?"

Misha looks nervously over at Jensen, who rounds the car and slides his hand onto the small of Misha's back.

"Hell, yeah, it works for me," he says brightly.

He returns to his place and they run it again. This time, the take is flawless.

What happens afterward is even better.

 _*the end*_  



End file.
